It's 3 am. I am sitting in boxer shorts and typing. I am not wearing a t-shit. If you knew stuff about me you would know I don't like not wearing t-shirts.
I might be getting sick.
I am almost certain that can't be good. I am getting sick, because one of the cashiers at work loves to come to work sick, and she doesn't care if she infects people. She also loves to talk to me, and spread her germs all over me, and borrow my pen.
I am sure she is rubbing that pen in her vagina, because we all know that the fastest way to spread the flu is to borrow someone's writing utensil and coat it with your viral infested labia juices.
There is good news.
The good news is that I won a free cookie from Subway. I guess in a way that means that Subway is a sponsor of this blog. How many of you have a major corporation willing to put it's reputation on the line and support edgy, incest based humor? I doubt more than six of you.
There is bad news.
I have three books from the library that are overdue. With the fines at 50 cents per day/per book we are talking a major problem and a big drain on my drinking budget.
I would take the books back, but I'm way too lazy to wake up at 11 am and take the bus down to the library, because then I would have to blog that trip to you guys, and then you would all get jealous about how 17 year old Mexican girls hit on me and buy organic cucumbers to stick up my ass. And then I would never get around to part 2 of the Epic of Non-Epicness that was the last post.
I am finding things in my testicles.
Whatever is growing in my testicle is really growing and I can no longer deny that it is not something, as it most certainly is something, although I am sure that something is probably nothing, but nevertheless it might be something, because I am white and pasty and 38, which is right about the correct age to die from prostate cancer, which I am pretty sure is how my grandpa died (though he did not die until he was in his 80's-also I am also not 100% sure that he is dead- he may just be in a coma or something- I can't remember what Mom said and I haven't talked to the guy in 30 years or so.)
I am coughing a bit.
I feel out of sorts. Like the day before you get sick. Only it's been 3 days. I just wished I would go ahead and get sick, so I could go ahead and get over with it.
I don't see that happening.
I sense the sickness is some kind of metaphorical sickness that sticks with me and that somehow stands in for the stagnantly dull pulse that is my life. So I won't get sick enough to die. But I won't ever get to feel better.
I will just sit here in this really uncomfortable chair, and wonder about getting something to drink, and stay up way past my bedtime so I can avoid turning in my overdue library books, and watch the inglorious bastards in 34 minute intervals, because my train of thought always wanders a bit nowadays- with all the aluminum that I have absorbed into my brain from the melted non- stick pans I eat off of- because we all know that aluminum residue causes early onset Alzheimer's disease.*
*I once read somewhere that posting frequently will make you popular. I am not sure how that works here. Also, I was thinking we should count this as part 4 of the epic (who says you get them in order?) Part 5 will be guest blogged by Sara Beth. Also each blog post will feature some blast from the past link to the incomparable archives of this blog (or one of my many other blogs.)